


Like Lightning

by Sethrine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: McCree couldn’t say he remembered the exact day he had met Reyna Baxter, on account of the fact that he had been dead at the time.An introduction to my character, Reyna, and how her friendship with Jesse McCree came to be.Summary and tags subject to change.





	Like Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So, I know I've already had Reyna show up in one of my other stories already, but I figured I would sort of give some background into how her and McCree came to be such good friends. Plus, it gives me a better chance of working with my own character and trying to perfect how I want to portray her.
> 
> I also have plans to introduce her brother, at some point, but until then, I hope you guys can warm up to Reyna.
> 
> Let me know what you think of her! And don't worry, more will be explained in coming chapters!

_“So, how did you meet that friend of yours?”_

McCree couldn’t say he remembered the exact moment he had met Reyna Baxter, a woman who showed up seemingly out of the shadows of a lightning storm, but the events leading up to their meeting was hard to forget, at least from what his memory supplied him with. He remembered the details, of course, all the bits before her arrival, but things got hazy real quick in his mind when it came to the actual meeting. Then again, he had been dead when she found him, at least for a short time, and he had been out of his mind for a good while after. 

He gave a warm smile, recalling the night as best he could. 

\------ 

Life had such a short window of time after the heart stopped beating. Of that fact, McCree was, apparently, no exception. 

His place of interest had him in bad weather, rain drenching his clothes and chilled winds freezing his skin as he fought off several assassins who were eager to take him out, all while bathed in the meager flashes of lightning that lit up the area for the briefest of moments. 

At some point, being down on ammo and resorting to more hand-to-hand combat, he felt the sharp sting of cold metal pierce his right side, followed by an impossibly hot sensation that slowly spread outward. He neutralized the enemy responsible for the attack, but the damage had been dealt. The more he fought against his assailants, the more the sensation increased until he was practically burning from the inside out. Things only began to worsen when he finally downed the last of his enemies and staggered to his makeshift shelter, an abandoned but still standing house on the outskirts of the small town he was investigating, his place of cover until he had gotten the information he needed. 

He couldn’t see the injury in the darkness of his hideout, but Jesse was able to surmise that the weapon he had been damaged with was laced in poison, a strong sort with an acrid odor that had the wound on his side oozing thick blood, a reaction that didn’t bode well. It hurt less than it should have, save for the impossible burning within his veins, and that was startling enough in his attempt to stem the flow as best he could while attempting to light a fire in the hearth. 

Within a matter of moments, however, his body began seizing, muscles twitching violently and breathing all but cut off by the swelling in his throat and his lungs. It definitely wasn’t the way he had expected to die, thinking either a bullet to the head or his own problems with alcohol would get to him first. If anything, he was frustrated with himself for being just on the side of too careless, damning himself in his last moments for not paying better attention, for being too heavy on his addiction in times he should have been more alert and ready. 

His last image burned into his eyes was that of a looming figure above him, one he believed to be the grim reaper, himself, come to collect his soul, shadowed by the flashes of lightning illuminating his figure from the window. Then everything went black. 

Well, everything went black for, like, half a minute. 

The next thing McCree had been aware of was the sharp burn of something across his chest, and suddenly he was breathing in, coughing at the pull in his lungs and the frantic palpitations of his heart nearly making him lose his breath all over again. His hands had curled into fists, and it took him a moment to realize that he had been arching clean off the floor for a sold few seconds before his body all but slumped back down. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning his head to the side and attempting to will his body to do the same. Maybe if he managed to do that, he breathing would feel better and not so heavy. 

“ _Fuck_ is right, cowboy,” came a reply he hadn’t expected. He looked to the source as best he could, just barely able to make out the outline of someone, a woman, kneeling beside him. Another flash of lightning illuminated her face long enough for a choppy glimpse at bright eyes and a disbelieving, though smiling, face. 

Things became hazy after that moment, as if McCree had slow blinked to another moment of his life, but when he was more conscious of what was going on, he was lying on the bed he had pulled from one of the bedrooms into the living area. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, fresh and eating away at the pile of logs within, and beside that was the woman he had seen only briefly before, now illuminated by a warm, orange glow and reading a book. 

McCree shifted, grunting at the various pains within his body and immediately giving up the thought of moving any further. Regardless, he heard the instant shuffling of his company coming closer, words of dissuasion already on her lips. 

“Hey, hey, nuh-uh! No moving around, cowboy, or you might hurt yourself more. Can’t have that when I tried so hard to bring you back from the dead.” 

There were so many questions he had at that moment. The one that his mind forced out first just so happened to be, “I w's dead?” 

“Twice, to be exact,” she said matter-of-factly, “for a grand totally of forty-eight seconds. You’re lucky I’ve got the magic touch, as well as about four vials of the antidote you needed for that nasty poison fucking up your system. A couple light shocks to your heart, a quick stick in your neck, and you were good to go! Eh, at least…more alive than when I found you.” 

Her words raised even more questions that his mouth just couldn’t form the words to. He tried, but his speech was heavily slurring, words coming out half formed and the likeness of sentences running together. She was shushing him all over again. 

“Calm down, there, Casanova,” she joked lightly before smiling in sympathy. “Just rest, okay? You’re in safe hands, I promise.” 

She stood and moved away from him a moment, just out of his line of sight. He could hear the sound of heavy fabric being maneuvered, followed by a zipper, most likely from a pack of some sort. When she returned, it was with a bottle of water in-hand. His mouth was suddenly drier than he remembered it being only seconds ago. 

“I’ll help you take a few sips, mkay? Just gonna lift your head a bit, then you can rest properly.” 

Jesse nodded as best he could. 

True to her word, the woman slid her hand carefully underneath his matted hair and the curve of his skull, lifting until he was angled enough to latch onto the bottle of water. He took several pulls from the bottle, the cheap plastic crinkling noisily once he was finished and air was able to take the place of the missing liquid within it. He had downed half the bottle with little effort, would have had more, if not for the woman lowering his head back down to the thin pillows beneath him. 

“Alright, no need to be greedy. Now, get some sleep, buckaroo, and we can have a talk when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.” 

McCree settled more heavily into the bed, his aches a dull throb that quickly moved to the back of his mind as sleep began to take him. He was aware of his company moving away, most likely back to the fireplace to resume the book she had been reading. He turned his head slightly, eyes opening to see just that imagine. 

“Th’ name's Jesse,” he mumbled, perhaps a bit deliriously as his eyes closed on their own accord. He was lucky enough to see the woman look back up and smile at him, eyes bright in the light of the fire. 

“I’m Reyna. Reyna Baxter. It's a pleasure to save your ass, Jesse McCree.”


End file.
